


chicken and egg, pot and kettle

by the_aesthetic_of_happiness



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Celebrity Crush, Celebrity Huang Ren Jun, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Inspired by Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper (2004), Lee Jeno is a Panicked Gay, Living Together, M/M, Model Lee Jeno, Protectiveness, References to Monty Python, SM Entertainment Bashing, Secret Crush, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aesthetic_of_happiness/pseuds/the_aesthetic_of_happiness
Summary: When Jeno was told that he was going to become the real equivalent of the main character of a fake dating AU, he couldn’t believe it.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 18
Kudos: 148
Collections: Love Dream 2020





	chicken and egg, pot and kettle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fullsunrises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullsunrises/gifts).



> for the 2021 Valentine's Day dreamies fic exchange!! 
> 
> rated T for some mild sexual humor

When Jeno was told that he was going to become the real equivalent of the main character of a fake dating AU, he couldn’t believe it.

“Excuse me?”

His manager bobbed her head. “That’s right. Just in time for Valentine’s Day too. Think of it as a good opportunity!” she said.

He sat back into his makeup chair. “I . . . Yeri.”

“What.”

“I don’t have time for a relationship. How do you know I’m not already _in_ a relationship! Cancel it right away.”

“What are you in a relationship with? Your threadbare wallet? Come on, Jeno, if you don’t accept this offer you are going to get even broker than you already are,” said Yeri, ever the grammar specialist. “Not to mention your contract is almost up with our entertainment company here. If you want a chance at renewal you need to _prove_ to the higher-ups that you’re worth your shit.”

Jeno slowly swiveled around in his makeup chair to face his mirror. Yeri loomed over his shoulder as he leaned his elbows on the countertop and buried his hands in his hair. He didn’t even care that he was messing up the carefully styled hairdo the stylist had literally just put the finishing touches on—he had bigger things to worry about. 

“I’m worth my shit. My series of CFs is being released next Thursday, right?” he said weakly.

Yeri clicked her pen. “That’s true. That’ll probably get you enough dough to last through the end of . . . February? Provided you eat ramen every day and don’t go to that pop concert you’ve been saving up for. And provided that you don’t spend money on gas, or parking, or taxes . . . .” She scribbled all of the math down onto her clipboard and after a moment looked up with an unimpressed face. “Yeah, no. You’re going to be broke. Take the offer, Jeno.”

He was quiet. Then he let out a small sigh.

“Just how serious is this fake dating going to be?”

She launched into an explanation, walking him through it. They would move in together and promptly begin participating in the elaborate romantic farce, purposefully making ample public appearances all for the purpose of gaining fan traction. With this, Jeno’s CFs would get more exposure and so more people would be willing to buy the products in the advertisements with him in it. That meant he’d get more money. And after two to three months, once the intricate falsehood was over, they would go their separate ways hopefully with Jeno’s wallet intact and thriving.

“One last thing,” Jeno asked, just as she was about to leave the room and tell the other staff members that Jeno was ready for today’s photoshoot. “Who’s the person I’ll be, uh, frolicking with?”

She stopped at the door and peeked her head back out, her eyes glinting mischievously. In moments like these, he remembered that Yeri was only a year or so older than him, and she was not above clever tricks herself.

“I think you’ll like them,” she said. “I think you really, really will.”

♡♡♡

That night, Jeno went home to his boyfriend and apologized for what was about to come.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hands spread as he stood in the living room in his pajamas. “There’s nothing to be done about it. It’s a necessary measure. Please, don’t feel too jealous.”

His boyfriend said nothing.

“I know, I know!” Jeno said. “We’ll make it through this. You and I have a strong bond.”

Still no response.

The hall door swung open with a squeak and he turned to see Chenle, who was towelling his hair dry having just come out of the shower. The living room immediately smelled like the younger’s infamous overpriced Bath & Body Works foaming lavender shampoo. He momentarily stopped to squint at Jeno who was standing in the living room next to his Renjun standee cutout. 

“Who were you talking to?”

"Was on the phone,” blurted Jeno immediately, despite the fact that his phone is in the bathroom where Chenle had just emerged. (All the other outlets and charging ports in the apartment don’t work. It’s an economic sin.)

“Right,” said Chenle slowly. He laughed a little. “Wanna tell me what happened at work today? You look like you’ve got a story to tell. Your necktie’s all messed up, the way it gets when you’re frustrated.”

“I’m not frustrated,” said Jeno stubbornly, sitting down on the couch.

Chenle padded over in his bunny slippers to sit next to him. The scent of lavender was pleasant yet toxic in a very Chenle sort of way.

“I’m not going to tell you,” added Jeno.

Chenle hummed, picked up the TV remote, and turned on the TV, flipping through channels. The volume was low, as it always was. Chenle and Jeno never really watched TV, they just kind of left it on in the background while they worked or ate dinner or lounged around. It was a waste of electricity, sure, but they’d gotten used to it in the two or three years they’d been roommates.

“I’m not worried. If you won’t tell me what happened, I’m sure Renjun will.” Chenle spared a wink at the idol standee, whose cardboard face was fixed in an unending smile. “Renjun’s a real one. He’s got my back.”

“Hey,” whined Jeno. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Neo got my back. Neo got my—”

“Stop!” Jeno grabbed a pillow and tried to use it wrestle him down to cease the chanting. “Stop clowning me! I always tell you I don’t like it—”

Chenle wriggled away, his voice rising. “Cultured taste, take take on my mind—”

“You’re getting the lyrics wrong!”

“ _Neo got my back, black on black, you think you big boy throwing three stacks_ —”

At this point he was just mixing together iconic lines from NCT’s discography. “Chenle!” he groaned.

The younger popped his head up from behind the pillow, face fixed in glee. His hair was messy now. “Gee, gee, okay! Okay. There’s nothing wrong with being a fan, you know. I’m just messing with you and your nerdy ass.”

“I know,” grumbled Jeno, receding back onto his side of the couch. It was true. He was a nerd. He wasn’t _crazy_ , though; he was perfectly aware that his Renjun standee was just a standee, but it was funny to pretend to talk to him. It was nice to pretend someone actually cared that Jeno would be fake dating someone for the sole purpose of not having to eat instant ramen every day for the rest of the season.

Eventually, Chenle weaseled the story out of Jeno, and when he was done he started to chuckle.

“Oh man. This is a sitcom.”

Jeno shrugged. Chenle sobered up and reached up to pat his shoulder.

“Hey, it won’t be so bad. You’ll make it through. And guess what? I’ll keep Renjun the hunk company while you’re gone. He won’t know a thing.”

Jeno’s lips curved up. His roommate always had a knack for brightening the atmosphere. “Oh, yeah? Thanks man. I was worried he’d feel neglected.”

“Oh, for sure,” said Chenle knowingly. “The only thing I’m worried about is that your fake dating partner will actually fall in love with you and your nerdy K-pop ass. You should let them know you’re a taken man. Wear a sticker that says ‘please don’t flirt with me I don’t want to cheat on Huang Renjun who doesn’t know I exist.’”

“Good idea. I’ll tell them I’ve been married for four years,” said Jeno.

“Make it seven. That way it’ll be as if you’ve broken the seven year curse! True love, and all!”

The seven years curse was not a marriage thing; it was a K-pop contract thing. But it was funny all the same. “If I got married seven years ago I would've been thirteen years old,” he said.

Chenle snickered and pulled his knees up on the couch. “Childhood friends to lovers. Slow burn, fifty thousand words, soulmates—”

“No beta we die like men—”

“The author is terrible at summaries—”

“More tags to be added—”

They dissolved in laughter, leaning into each other on the couch for support. In that moment everything felt like it’d be okay. And it would; they’d be okay.

♡♡♡

Being a model was nice in that for all his life, Jeno had received compliments for having nice proportions and a nice face with a nice smile to boot. On top of that, he was friendly. This made people want to become his friend. Jeno had a lot of friends.

What he didn’t a lot of was good romantic experiences. For the most part, whenever he attempted to start relationships with people it didn’t work out. Whenever Jeno tried to deepen the relationship by showing his significant others his vulnerable sides and coming to them for comfort in times of need, they reacted with an uncomfortable amount of surprise at the thought that Jeno even had a personality trait past the singular one-dimensional sunny boy persona that they’d initially pegged him as.

Jeno had bad days just like all the other people. Sometimes he wasn’t nice. Sometimes he was tired or confused or upset or hurt. Not everything about him was _nice_. He wanted people to know that. He didn’t want to be thought of as one-dimensional; he wanted things to change. 

Things hadn’t changed. By now he’d even begun to forget he’d ever wished for anything different in the first place.

♡♡♡

In no time, he was putting on a nice shirt and pants, fasting the laces of his boots, and walking out the door to hail a taxi and drive to the venue where he was going to meet his idol.

When he made it there, he nearly had a breakdown at the sight of Huang Renjun, standing in the lobby and leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed, eyes on his manager, a tall woman with a purple blouse who was in front of him looking harried.

When she caught sight of Jeno, she perked up and waved him over, and it seemed as if she were about to introduce the two of them before her phone rang and she had to leave to take care of it. Jeno was left standing awkwardly in front of Renjun, who did not move nor uncross his arms. His cool gaze on Jeno was a little . . . intimidating. As if Jeno needed more reason to be scared shitless right now. Yeri did _not_ tell him it was _Renjun_. She'd set him up for this. She was evil. Heartless.

“Um,” Jeno said. To try to be casual he put his hands in his pockets, but the pockets only small enough to fit up to his second knuckles, and so he switched to hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and hoped that that didn’t look awkward. “It’s . . . hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” said Renjun calmly. “My name is Renjun.”

 _I know,_ thought Jeno. “That’s nice.”

“My friends call me Jun,” said Renjun. “You can just call me Renjun.”

“Ah.” Jeno bobbed his head. “I see.”

Renjun appeared to be waiting for him to say something. Jeno felt like he was looking into his soul and seeing all of the mini Jeno caricatures screaming and flailing around with their neon green NCT lightsticks alight. If Jeno had known the person he would be pretending to date was Renjun Huang, he never would have agreed to this arrangement.

“Oh, my name is Jeno,” he said, belatedly. That was probably what he’d been waiting for.

“Okay, Jeno,” said Renjun, with the composure of someone who really didn’t want to be here. “Let’s go announce our starcrossed relationship, hmm?” 

Jeno began to panic. Already? They’d barely even met—surely they needed to at least have some time to get to know each other before they went out claiming to be in love. Jeno couldn’t do this.

Renjun stood up straight and held out his elbow invitingly.

“Oh. Yes,” said Jeno, reaching up to—to what? To take the elbow? Should he hold it in his hand? Maybe he was supposed to link their elbows together? For a moment he stood there silently struggling. Fucking hell.

“Your thumbs appear to be caught in your belt loops,” said Renjun observantly, his eyes on the way Jeno still wasn’t moving.

“They’re not,” said Jeno, beginning to pull his thumbs out, until he realized that Renjun was right and they were indeed stuck there. Oh my God. “Oh. Haha, big fingers, you know what I mean? Sometimes I put them in the randomest places and, well, then I have trouble taking them back out. It’s lovely all around.” He leaned over and tried to yank the thumbs out to no avail. “Should I have stretched this more?” he murmured.

After a long moment, he quickly jerked back upright to see the other wearing a wide-eyed expression. “Wait, that wasn’t—wait,” he said. “That came out wrong.”

“Uh,” said Renjun.

“I didn’t mean to make an ass joke. I mean, most of my jokes are ass, but I—like, in a metaphorical way. Not in a literal way. But that’s not, I mean, I wasn’t . . . oh, dear.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Renjun’s mouth was curving up at the corners. 

“Sound check in five,” shouted one of the staff members from the adjacent room, and Jeno looked over to see Yeri beckoning him in with her _you better get here right fucking now_ face. With one final tug he managed to free his thumbs and then he and Renjun made their way into the room, side by side. A camera flashed harshly at them and Jeno put on a pained sort of smile.

♡♡♡

Jeno was barely keeping it together.

He’d made it through the initial press conference with incredible discomfort, feeling sweaty in his button-down shirt the whole time. He’d posed for some photos, and when the cameraman had gestured for he and Renjun to get closer Jeno tried to tamp down his blush as he slipped an arm over Renjun’s shoulder and tried to muster an easy grin at the camera. From behind the cameraman he could see the crew of staff squinting at them dubiously. They weren’t in on the secret; only the two boys’ managers were. Renjun’s manager, the tall woman in the blouse, was named Seulgi.

“So what is that you like most about your boyfriend, Lee?” asked a reporter, a nice-looking lady with red lipstick. The other reporters waiting to get a word did not look half as nice.

“He’s lovely,” said Jeno. “I’m sure I know him in a very different way than all of you think I do.”

Renjun’s grip on his hand tightened in warning.

“And by that I mean,” Jeno added, “that all of Renjun’s fans think of him a certain way, but I know him in a much more intimate way. I know what he’s like on the inside.”

“Behind that icy exterior?” said the lady, bobbing her head. “What is he like? Does he do a lot of aegyo? What’s he like in the mornings?”

“I’m a horrible morning person,” said Renjun, at the same time Jeno said, “Mornings are the best with him.”

The reporters leaned in like vultures. Jeno focused his gaze on the black rim around the closest camera, trying to channel his inner calm.

“Renjun thinks he’s grumpy and ugly in the mornings, but I disagree,” he explained. “He’s grumpy, but in a—a cute way. Like, messy hair, and sleepy eyes.”

“But you agree that I am indeed ugly in the mornings,” Renjun checked, and Jeno gave him a look only to see that the other was wearing a slight smirk.

“Well, I’m not saying you’re _not_ ,” mustered Jeno, and Renjun actually laughed.

“How long have you two been dating?” hounded the reporter, determined on getting her two cents in before her spot in line was taken by the next journalist. “How long do you think your relationship will last?”

Renjun quieted and gave her an arched sort of look, the same kind he’d given Jeno when they’d met in the lobby. Jeno was starting to see that it was the Renjun expression. “What kind of a question is that?” he asked.

“We’ve been together for three and a half months but we were good friends before that,” said Jeno quickly, sticking to the story, hoping that Renjun and the reporter would leave it at that.

But Renjun wasn’t done. “No. Who asks a couple how long their relationship will last?” he said. “What are you implying about us?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Then don’t ask questions you don’t mean,” said Renjun.

The lady looked between the two of them nervously, then bowed and quickly made her escape. The next reporter to take her place was looking thoroughly less confident than he’d been a minute ago.

Jeno fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

So far he’d noticed that Renjun was excellent at talking—his public speaking training at his idol agency must’ve been extensive—except he _wasn’t_ excellent at being all that warm. Sure, Renjun’s stage persona had always been that Cool Boy, I Don’t Give Two Fucks About you aesthetic, but Jeno hadn’t expected for it to transfer so completely into his off-stage persona too. Icy exterior indeed.

When the press conference was over, and Renjun and Jeno were climbing into a taxi to head back to the shared flat they were going to be staying at for however long this would last, the air was a little tense. Without the medium of the camera in front of them to regulate the way they acted, Jeno was at a little bit of a loss as to how to act around the other.

“You smile a lot,” commented Renjun, looking out the window.

Jeno glanced at him and tried to relax his face muscles. “Most of it is actually out of nervousness.”

“Well, it looks genuine. You’re good at it.”

“Yeah,” said Jeno. “I’m . . . I’ve had practice.”

“Me too.”

Jeno took a deep breath. “Then why don’t you do it more often?”

Renjun took his eyes off the window to regard him.

“You don’t smile a lot,” said Jeno. “You were kind of rough back there, with that reporter. Don’t you think that was, well, you know, kind of . . . . ”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Jeno. “Less than tactful, I guess.”

“Tactless, you mean,” said Renjun. “Wow. Never heard that one before.”

“For real?”

“No,” snapped Renjun, then seemed to calm down just a little. It was enough to show that he was trying—that he wasn’t purposefully being difficult. “People call me that all the time. I think Seulgi’s convinced I have a personality disorder.”

“Do you?”

Renjun shrugged. “I’m not sure. But does it matter?”

They were pulling up to the flat, the taxi driver turning down the radio to bring attention to their destination—but probably also to listen in on their conversation. That was their cue to stop talking about personal stuff. Without saying much, they got out of the car, grabbed their bags, and rode the elevator up to their room.

The suite was nice, and there were two beds, so at least there wouldn’t be _that_ kind of god-awful fanfiction trope that Jeno had to suffer through. He unpacked his bags and was about to reach into his pocket to grab his phone and plug it in when he remembered that he didn’t _have_ his phone. His company had taken it. Privacy reasons, and all. They didn’t want him playing any type of role in this elaborate display other than what they themselves approved—Jeno having his own phone was somehow a liability?

“You get used to it,” said Renjun, who was peeking inside all of the kitchenette cabinets, looking for cups.

“Get used to what?”

“No phones.”

“But you have one,” said Jeno, nodding at where Renjun’s phone was sitting sleekly on the countertop.

“No I don’t,” said Renjun primly, taking out a cup and filling it at the sink. “You didn’t see anything.”

Oh. So it was a secret. Jeno made a mental note to ask Chenle how he could get his hands on a cheap device as a replacement for the one his company had yoinked from him.

The rest of the afternoon, they didn’t do much. Jeno took a nap. Renjun went into his room and didn’t come out until dinner time, when Jeno made some instant rice cake and he came out to grab a bite.

“Take some more,” said Jeno, eyeing the way Renjun had placed only a handful of the tteok onto his plate when there was plenty still in the pot.

“I can’t. I’m on a diet,” said Renjun.

He sounded so maudlin. “No one will fire you for eating,” Jeno argued. “Come on, take some. We don’t have a proper fridge so I don’t think we’ll be able to save it as leftovers if we don’t finish it tonight.”

Renjun studied him for a moment.

He seemed to find what he was looking for, because he finally nodded and began to pile more of the rice cake onto his plate. Jeno gave a bit of an inner fist pump. Small victories, he thought. Small ones.

After dinner Renjun said he’d do the dishes because Jeno had cooked, so Jeno sat on the couch with a blanket and sipped his chamomile tea and watched the other boy begin to rinse the forks and chopsticks for the dishwasher. Jeno considered turning on the TV, but he thought that this was too opportune of a moment to chat with Renjun to pass up—he didn’t know if another chance like this would come around, if Renjun were to make a habit of disappearing back into his room like he did today.

So Jeno’s fingers flexed around his mug, the wool blanket heavy and warm his lap. “Renjun?” he said. The other made a noncomittal noise. “Why is your company making you do this?” Jeno asked.

“Mm? For money,” said Renjun flatly, not turning around from where he was washing the dishes. His rubber gloves made a squeaking noise against the white plates. “Why does anyone make anyone do anything?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Jeno. “I did some research, though. Your band is doing well, popularity-wise. You even got a Billboard 100, the other month, didn’t you?” He said this like he didn’t know already. If only Renjun knew how big of a fan he was . . . 

“Yes, we did,” said Renjun, stack the dishes into the dishwasher. “Musically, we’re a big hit. The issue is, our public image isn’t doing so well, and the members think it’s because of me.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

Jeno watched him load the soap into the machine. “How so?” he said.

“Well, I’m not sure how much you know about the way idols work, but we all have to have this image. And it’s like, each of us was coached to exude a different concept, you know? Hyuck is rowdy. Jaemin is clever. Yukhei is innocent, and Jisung is mischievous. The list goes on. Put all of this together and you’ve got a cohesive group that can be easily read, understood, and liked,” explained Renjun, slipping off his wet gloves and putting them down on the countertop. He turned to face him. “Go ahead; guess what my concept is.”

“Uhh,” said Jeno. He actually didn’t know this one; he’d never thought about it before. “Sexiness?”

Renjun laughed.

“Did I get it right?” asked Jeno.

“Absolutely not. I’m mysteriousness.” He came over to sink into the couch next to him, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He looked casual like this, simple, as if he weren’t talking about how his entertainment company made it so that his entire existence was boiled down to a personality trait that was vague at best. “Like, mystery and stuff. Aloof, cool guy. Distant guy. The foreigner who keeps to himself.”

“That’s lame,” said Jeno. “I mean, that’s—no, yeah, that’s kinda lame.”

“Isn’t it?” Renjun said, sounding relieved that someone else shared his point of view. “I hate it. They never let me talk in the interviews because they’re afraid I’ll mess up my image. Good grief.”

“You talk in V-lives,” Jeno pointed out. “If someone were, uh, a real fan, they’d be able to see past the fallacies and get to the bottom of who you are, don’t you think?”

“I suppose?” Renjun shrugged. He nudged at a fashion magazine sitting on the table with his bare foot. On the cover was none other than Donghyuck, his perpetually sunny bandmate. “But most people don’t put in that type of effort. Anyway, to answer your question, the reason why I’m doing this whole relationship thing with you is because the company decided my image is too . . . how do you call it. Chilly? Like, they think I’ve taken the aloofness too far. Apparently netizens are beginning to think I’m haughty, or something—the company wants to make me seem more approachable.” He gestured vaguely at the space between him and Jeno. “They’re doing it through shit like this. Funny, isn’t it? They use fakeness to try and mask something that was fake to begin with. Chicken and the egg. It never stops.”

“So . . .” Jeno drew his knees up to his chest. The wool blanket squished against his lap with an audible crunch. He winced. It probably hadn’t been washed in a while. “They want to use me to make it look like you have a soft side. So I can cuddle you on camera and netizens won’t think you’re a heartless bozo.”

Renjun barked out a laugh. It was an affirmation.

It made sense. After all, Jeno’s concept was purity and friendliness; Renjun’s was anonymity and coldness. Together, they would balance each other, bring out sides of each other that would appeal to fans and boost their jobs. It was a win-win situation. 

All the same, Jeno couldn’t help but feel disturbed.

Why did he get the feeling that Renjun despised his own involuntary tsundere concept the same way that Jeno couldn’t bear his own sugary-sweet concept? Why did it feel like he and Renjun were more similar at heart than they thought? 

Maybe it was the tea. Caffeine at night typically made Jeno’s heart race faster; that was all.

♡♡♡

The days went by. It wasn’t as hard as Jeno thought it’d be.

He learned things about Renjun. What soft drinks he liked, what temperature he wanted the thermostat to be, and what songs he played on the guitar at night when they were winding down to go to sleep. During public appearances the two of them got along fine, apart for some initial awkwardness, and in no time it felt like things had always been this way.

“Moomin. Turn it on,” ordered Renjun, trying to grab the TV remote out of Jeno’s hand. They were in their pajamas on the couch, at the end of the first week.  
“We watched that yesterday!” said Jeno, holding it out of his reach. It wasn’t hard, considering how he was much taller and broader than the other in general. “I want to watch National Geographic. I think they’ll talk about penguins today. Or hedgehogs. Don’t you like hedgehogs?”

“I like Moomin,” groaned Renjun, making another grab for the remote. He missed and with an _oof_ he landed halfway on top of Jeno. It was not a new occurrence. “National Geographic is boring. You’re such a square.”

“You called me sharp and intelligent today at the fanmeet,” Jeno pointed out.

“Yeah. As _sharp_ as a square. They have right angles, you know. Vertices, and all.”

“But no one wants to be a square,” said Jeno. Renjun snorted. “No one,” added Jeno.

And at that, Renjun sat up. His hair was unstyled, flopping over his face in a dark silvery bob, and his collarbones looked nice from where they peeked out of his flannel collar.

“How do you know that meme?”

“What meme?” said Jeno.

“The square one. From my bandmate.”

Jeno went still. “Oh,” he said, hearing his own voice as if from far away. “Yes, I do. It’s, uh, a popular joke in your guys’ fandom, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Renjun shook his head. “Wow. We’re that famous, huh?”

Jeno could tell he was going to be exposed if he didn’t do something about it soon. He began flipping through TV channels as a distraction. “Haha. Ha. Well did you think that I’d never heard of you before this arrangement happened? Everyone knows who NCT is. My grandma in Daegu probably does. Seriously, you underestimate yourself. Any person half as good at geometry or reading the stock market as me would be able to know what I know.”

And they left it at that. Jeno was grateful enough that before they went to bed for the night he agreed to watch an episode of Moomin.

♡♡♡

They filmed a CF for Coke, the drink, and Jeno had to admit that Renjun looked very nice in red. He, on the other hand, not so much. The stylists had spent twenty minutes trying to find _some_ shade that wouldn’t make Jeno’s skin tone look like the shell of a hardboiled egg, and eventually settled on the deepest burgundy hoodie on the clothes rack. The burgundy was so dark it was almost black. The photography director complained that it was throwing off the natural lighting of the set.

“I don’t even like Coke,” said Jeno under his breath.

Renjun stifled a snort from where he was standing back-to-back against him. “Fake it till you make it, love.”

“You don’t like it either. You’re a Sprite person.”

“Well. Right now, right here, I am the biggest advocate for Coca-Cola that this motherfucking earth has ever seen,” said Renjun, lifting the condensation-saturated can of soda higher. Jeno grinned and followed suit. Their twin smiles were genuine; the camera snapped, snapped, snapped, and it didn’t feel so bad. 

♡♡♡

They went to China to film a video of Renjun showing Jeno around his hometown, because the companies thought that’d be a good wholesome content that the fans would want. Their sponsorship for Coke only went so far, though—they didn’t ask for Cokes on their plane, that was for sure. Renjun got plain water, and Jeno for a variety of their in-flight beverages. The next time the drink carts came around Jeno asked for a Fanta, then promptly began to mix his leftover lukewarm Sprite with the orange-flavored drink.

Renjun gasped at the sight.

“Heathen!”

“Pot. Kettle,” said Jeno, continuing to pour as he jerked his chin to the remnants of Renjun’s lunch food tray, where he had mixed ketchup with barbecue sauce in his bowl as a dipping cauldron for his french fries.

“That’s different,” argued Renjun. “Not all pots are black, you know.”

Jeno poured the last drop of Sprite into his Fanta can and sipped it deeply. “Silver pot and silver kettle. There you go.”

“Silver pot and black kettle!”

“Black pot and black kettle. No one buys mismatched dishware.”

They weren’t making any sense to anyone but themselves, but that was the way it had been for a while by now, and it was more fun than either of them wanted to admit. Renjun brandished his hand. “Who says they don’t?”

His ring flew off and smacked Jeno on his forehead. Jeno cursed and doubled over, elbows hitting the retractable airplane table, and Renjun gasped for real this time and reached to see if he was okay, fumbling for the ring and putting it back on.

“It’s okay,” managed Jeno. He reached for a napkin and held it to his forehead. “I have—a thick skull.”

“Well I know that,” said Renjun. “All the same. Is it bleeding?”

“I . . . yeah, I think so.” Damn, those rings were _sharp_. Cut over in all these little facets. What a public safety hazard.

Renjun hovered by his side nervously. “Should we do the thing in the movies where they ask over the loudspeaker if there are any doctors on board?”

Jeno looked up. “I don’t—what? No, no. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Renjun mustered a smile. “’Tis a mere flesh wound?” he quoted.

A moment passed. “Tis,” agreed Jeno, and together he and Renjun dissolved into muffled giggles. Sitting there, on the plane, laughing their asses off and surrounded by people who cast them odd looks. Oh, to be a Monty Python fan with your boyfriend . . . God tier.

As soon as he noticed he’d just subconsciously called Renjun his boyfriend, he tried to erase the realization. It wouldn’t do him any good to be chasing after ideas like that, now. It really really wouldn’t.

All the same, it was hard to remember that while Renjun was carefully putting a Band-Aid on top of the abrasion on Jeno’s face. It was hard to remember that when Jeno asked “kiss it better?” and Renjun legitimately leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead, making the other blush and laugh. It was hard to remember that everything was fake when he’d already gotten used to the smell of Renjun’s shampoo in the morning, had gotten used to the way the other laughed and talked and argued, had gotten used to how he was quite a bit more complicated of a person than just mysterious and vague. Renjun taking him to China and showing him around his hometown was so on the nose with the whole boyfriend aesthetic that it made Jeno dizzy trying to remind himself that it was all false. All false.

He kind of maybe wished it weren’t.

♡♡♡

Leaving the airport was as bad as Jeno had anticipated it to be, and then some. He’d been subjected to quite a few instances where he’d been bombarded with fans as soon as he exited his gate, but in all his chumminess with Renjun he’d forgotten how popular the other really was. The amount of fans waiting for their arrival was incredible; he could barely fathom the sea of people packing the airport like snapping a photo of Renjun and Jeno on this very day was the only thing they had been born for.

They shuffled down the walkway, protected by bodyguards and Renjun’s manager Seulgi, except there wasn’t much to be done about the rough bustling.

Jeno let out a startled eep at being jostled to the left by a fan in a brown coat whose face was obscured by the enormous iPhone they were using to try and capture a close-up of his face. He shrank back, trying to tuck his hood up to obscure his features, but he couldn’t even bring his arm up to his head because there were so many damn people in the way. Renjun’s grip tightened on his sleeve from where he’d grabbed it some amount of time ago. Jeno set his jaw and wished that this could all be over soon.

“Make way, please move out of the way,” called the security guards, trying to manhandle the monstrous wave of fans out of the path. It wasn’t any use.

Someone stuck out a camera on an extension pole. It hit Jeno in the forehead, on top of the laceration that’d he’d just sustained two hours ago, and he cursed as he stumbled to his knees, holding his head in his palm.

By the time his eyes had stopped throbbing and he was able to think clearly again, he looked up to see Renjun standing in front of him with his boots planted firmly on the airport’s tile floor. He was facing the girl who’d stuck the extension pole camera out.

“—I’m sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean—”

Harsh, fast Mandarin spoke over hers. Jeno caught the words _fuck, hell,_ and _harassment_ , but not much else, considering that he was shit at Mandarin.

The crowd hushed.

Jeno, too stunned to even get back to his feet, sat there looking up at Renjun who was short even next to the girl yet his presence seemed to fill up the whole room.

The crowd was quiet, sensing drama. He hated it. The feeling of prying eyes on him, the cameras eagerly poised to capture Renjun’s anger . . . it was too much. He wanted to leave. “Jun,” he tried.

Renjun ignored him, continuing to lay into the girl, this time impossibly louder and faster, and Jeno could only barely keep up. By the end of it, the girl was cowering, looking as if she were about to cry, but Renjun was barely out of breath; it must’ve been his excellent lung capacity, him being a vocalist and all. 

“I . . . I’m sorry,” the girl managed to say. But Renjun just turned around to face the rest of the mob, and they collectively shrank back at the sight of his gaze. He looked unbearably handsome, when he was angry.

Now, he spoke clearly and firmly enough that even Jeno could understand.

“Everyone, get out. You don’t belong here.”

The designated airport staff watched in amazement as the mob actually began to disperse. Fans hid their faces behind their sleeves or their masks, hurrying away, afraid Renjun might actually get his hands on their IDs to take legal action against them. In no time at all, the area was empty.

Quickly, Renjun knelt beside Jeno and put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes, so dark a moment ago, were wide and concerned. “Hey.” He spoke in soft Korean.

“Yes I’m okay,” managed Jeno before he could ask. “I . . . you didn’t have to . . . Why did you . . . ?”

“They hurt you,” said Renjun, his hand moving from Jeno’s shoulder up to his neck and finally his jaw. His thumb rested lightly on his cheek. “You sure you’re okay? That camera hit you pretty hard. It looks red. I think it’s starting to swell some more. What if it opens up again and then you really need to go get stitches? Dammit. Fans? More like fucking asshole nobodies. No sense of respect.”

At this point Jeno could tell he was too nervous to try to string his thoughts together sensibly. It was endearing, and surprising, and out of character. 

Renjun was a trained idol through and through, but today he had strayed from his character. Raising his voice in front of cameras. Swearing. Glaring. He had done it for Jeno. Jeno knew he shouldn’t feel too excited that he’d just been smashed in the face with an atrociously fat GoPro, but, well, silver lining.

Renjun was still rambling. “—I’m sorry you had to hear all of that, I’m not sure how much you understood, but I was just so upset, I wanted to just eat their _faces_ , make them pay—”

“Hold on there,” said Jeno gently, because he knew Renjun was the one who needed comfort right now. “Whose faces are we eating?”

“Theirs. All of them. Total destruction.”

“With what army?”

“My fans.” A moment passed, and then Renjun realized where his problem lay. “Shit. Whatever. I just—ugh, sometimes I hate it. I hate it. Really.”

His hand, still on Jeno’s neck, was trembling ever so slightly. Jeno reached up to clasp it in his own. “I know,” he said, with a light squeeze. Renjun let out a shaky breath.

“Let’s go home," said Jeno.

Security accompanied them to their car, but Renjun’s hand in Jeno’s was all the security he needed.

♡♡♡

It would be an understatement to say it was nice to visit Renjun’s hometown. He showed Jeno the playground he had used during middle school recess time, and then he showed Jeno the vending machine he’d bought Doritos at when he got thirsty after a long game of freeze tag. They walked down the road he had taken every day to school, and they crouched to look at the vegetable garden growing in the public park plaza. They ate bean cakes and pork buns at a small, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. They fed each other from their chopsticks. They drank boba. Taro, and green milk tea. Neither of them liked the classic black milk tea; it was a commiserating statement.

Jeno was only marginally conscious of the cameraman constantly peering over their shoulders, trying to get the best angle for the NCT Daily YouTube channel where they would eventually upload all of this. He had thought it would be hard to block out the fact of how this footage would be watched by hundreds and thousands of fans; but it wasn’t. Renjun’s bare face and small smile were enough to make him forget about it.

“—and when I got to the mall I realized I already _had_ the same shoes,” Renjun was saying. “In the same color! In the end, though, the extra pair turned out to be useful. As an idol trainee I was always running out of comfortable shoes to dance in.”

“Ah. Like the twelve dancing princesses,” said Jeno.

“Who are those?”

“The fairy tale where there’s twelve princesses and they dance so much that their dancing slippers get worn out . . . You know the one. I watched a Barbie movie about it once.”

“Are you calling me and my members princesses?” said Renjun, pretending to act affronted. “Barbie dolls?”

Jeno raised his eyebrows and grinned.

“I hope they don’t watch this,” grumbled Renjun, turning away for added dramatic effect. He knew how to work the camera, that was for sure. “The boys will start calling me, like, Ken, or something. Asian Ken. Chinese Ken.”

“So you do know Barbie lore!”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay, quick: favorite Barbie movie.”

Renjun let out a deep breath and leaned back into the cheap, rickety chair, stirring his boba thoughtfully. “Mmm . . . the one with the swan.”

“Odette?”

“Yes. That, or the princess and the popstar. No! The princess and the _pauper_. Either of them, actually. They have, like, almost the same storyline.”

He was right. Those movies both involved a rich royal person and a less-rich, less-royal person, and the two of them were yearning to switch lives with each other so that they could be free and follow their hearts’ desires.

“I always thought those movies were kinda sad,” said Jeno. “I mean, they were so unhappy with their own life situations that they couldn’t see the joys that were right there in front of them all along.”

“What joys?” said Renjun. “If I were a princess in a Barbie movie I’d definitely want to get myself together and book it out of there as fast as possible.”

“You don’t like the idea of fame?”

Renjun was quiet. Then he said, “I just don’t think everyone is meant for the spotlight. That’s all.”

“Oho, are we getting meta here?” teased Jeno, pointing his straw at him. “You salty about something, Jun? Wanna spill?”

“No. I’m just saying—” Renjun gestured around them, at the restaurant, at the simple place they were eating and the simple clothes they were wearing and just the whole simplistic honesty of it all. “Coming back to my hometown . . . It just reminds me of different times. I don’t think it’s so bad for a princess, prince, what have you—I don’t think it’s so bad for them to want to be a pauper sometimes.”

Jeno nodded. He watched him.

This wasn’t news, to either of them. A few nights ago, back in Korea, the idol had been weary after a long talk with Lee Soo Man ("he's hellspawn, Jeno, I'm telling you") ("I'm not arguing"), and had trudged back home to sit on the carpet against the door with his necktie scrunched in his hands. Jeno had sat down next to him and Renjun had admitted that he was really really looking forward to going to China and showing Jeno around. To reminisce about the good old childhood days, from before he’d gone to SM Entertainment and ruined his life forever. 

(That last part was spoken as if it was a joke, but Jeno could tell he kind of meant it.)

Presently he set his boba cup down, and saw the glimpse of the black camera lense honing in on them from their left hand side. “Barbie movies are deeper than most people give them credit for, eh?” Jeno said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Oh, definitely. Hey, let’s do a Barbie marathon tonight,” said Renjun. "I'd be down for that."

“I bet you’ll just fall asleep in my lap again,” Jeno teased.

“Your lap is comfortable.”

“There’s so much other space on the bed for you to be comfortable on!”

“You’re not complaining, are you?”

“. . . No,” admitted Jeno cheerfully, and Renjun shook his head before standing up to throw away their paper plates and dirty napkins. The cameramen shuffled out of the restaurant—while they were outside prepping their equipment for another round of walking around town, Jeno and Renjun stayed behind to pay for the meal.

“You okay?” whispered Jeno as they turned to leave.

“Yeah,” mumbled Renjun. He held out his hand.

Jeno took it, and, without thought, kissed his knuckles. Renjun smiled a little, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Cameras aren’t shooting right now. Your gallantry is wasted.”

“You say that as if I care.”

“Don’t you?”

They were at the door now, just one threshold away from going back to the outside world.

“Do you?” said Jeno quietly, meeting Renjun’s gaze. 

Renjun’s eyes were brown. He was really pretty.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t think I do.”

Jeno smiled, and Renjun smiled too, their eyes folding into crescents.

“Okay,” said Jeno, squeezing his hand. “That’s good.”

“We better get going.”

Yet neither of them moved. Renjun’s eyes flickered down to Jeno’s lips, and then quickly he leaned in and kissed him. Their noses bumped. Renjun drew back, looking uncharacteristically shy, and Jeno giggled and leaned in to return the kiss.

They lingered a little longer than they should have before leaving the restaurant, but it was okay.

♡♡♡

Jeno should’ve known that all of it would come crashing down sooner or later.

“Dude,” said Chenle through the phone. “You’re saying that you and Renjun actually have feelings for each other now?”

If the amount of times they’d kissed in their flat after arriving back in Korea counted, then yes. Jeno thought Chenle would be happy for him, but his smile fell at his next words.

“You sure it’s not just, like, psychological?” asked Chenle.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, maybe you’re just taking things a little too fast. Both of you. Do you even know each other all that well? I thought that this was supposed to be a temporary plastic arrangement.”

“Yes, but things have changed.”

Barbie. Boba. Moomin, and clenched neckties. Jeno liked to take Renjun by the necktie and kiss him whenever he came home from a company meeting; he knew just as well that Renjun liked to run his hands through Jeno’s hair, messing up the perfect stylist’s work for whatever photoshoot he’d had that day. When he was satisfied he tended to braid the longer strands of Jeno's hair and laugh at the way it made the texture all wavy the next morning when he removed the elastics. 

“It’s been a couple months,” added Jeno, for extra evidence. “We were a big topic at the Valentine’s Day festival in Inkigayo.”

“Yes, yes, I watched that episode. I saw your lovey dovey eyes on Renjun the whole time.” Chenle paused. “I thought that it was because you’re his fan, though. I didn’t know it was _actual_ affection. Does he know that he’s your ultimate bias?”

“Well, first of all, Lele, I _live_ with him.”

“Yes, but does he know?”

“What I’m saying is that he’s not just a K-pop star to me anymore—I’ve gotten to know him, actually know him, and I—”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“My feelings are _genuine_.”

Chenle sounded like he was grimacing. “Yes, but Jeno,” he said. “How do you know that it’s not affected by . . . you know. I mean—you have a Renjun standee in our apartment. Renjun’s feelings might be genuine, but what if _you_ are confusing your past feelings with the ones you’re feeling right now?”

Jeno swallowed. “You’re getting it wrong. It’s not like Renjun thinks that I had no idea he existed before we met.”

Chenle’s voice was gentle. “Maybe you guys should talk about it.”

Jeno leaned back into the armchair in his and Renjun’s flat. His eyes lingered on the door, where Renjun would come home in less than an hour.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’m hanging up now, all right? Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah.”

The call went dead. Jeno put the phone in his lap and looked at the door, gnawing on a fingernail.

♡♡♡

_I feel like you know me,_ Renjun had murmured the other day when they’d been falling asleep side by side. They shared the bed these days. _You know me, in a way that no one else does. You make me feel normal._

 _You are normal,_ Jeno had said.

_I was worried I’d never find love. Like I know it sounds stuck up of me to say but for real, I was afraid people would look at me and all they would see is someone out of their league._

_I’d say you’re out of my league._

Renjun had rolled his eyes. _Jen, you’re a model. You’re hot shit._

Jeno had perked up. _You think so?_

_I’ll show you so_ , said Renjun, scooting closer.

That memory was warm, and wonderful, but Jeno couldn’t help but feel it was tainted by irony.

♡♡♡

When Renjun entered the room Jeno got to his feet and blurted, “I need to tell you something.”

Renjun blinked, then took off his backpack and started sliding off his shoes. “Can it wait? I’m hungry.”

Jeno swallowed, nodded, and went to put together supper. When he set the bowls of fried rice down onto the counter in front of Renjun, Renjun looked up from his phone and wiggled the screen. “Oi, Seulgi just Kakao’d me,” he said. “About us.”

“What’d she say?” Jeno pulled up a chair to sit.

“Said she thinks we’ve been doing a crazy convincing job at our whole dating scheme. The fan forums are so excited. They’re writing fanfictions about us; can you believe it?” Renjun laughed a little. “Our careers just might be saved. My bandmates have been talking about all the buzz and good auras surrounding me ever since you and I came out as boyfriends. Right, and didn’t you say you were worried about your company laying you off? Well, I don’t think you need to fear that anymore.”

It was true. The amount of revenue Jeno had gained just from his appearances on the NCT Daily channel was enough to fill his bank account comfortably in a way that it hadn’t been in a long time.

“I’ve heard about the fanfics,” agreed Jeno, picking at his rice.

“Really?” Renjun said, appalled.

“You haven’t? The Archive Of Our Own site crashed just last week or something, because some really popular fanfic writer posted a new chapter. Anyone who’s ever been knows how it is. Some of the stuff there isn’t all that appetizing but if you look past that there’s fic that’s actually fair game in terms of quality literature—”

He cut off. Renjun was looking at him.

“What?” Jeno said weakly.

“It sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. I’m hip. I know pop culture.”

“What is it that you wanted to tell me earlier?” Renjun asked.

Oh, dear. He was onto him. Jeno squirmed a little in his chair. What if he changed the subject now? Suddenly he wasn’t feeling too ready to have this conversation. Maybe he should pretend to be sick. He _did_ feel like he was a little bit nauseous, it wouldn’t be far from the truth.

“Babe, you’re worrying me,” said Renjun, brow knitted. “Is everything okay?”

Jeno realized belatedly that he’d drawn his knees up to his chest in the way he did when he was feeling threatened. “Um . . . Renjun.”

“Tell me.”

“If I tell you, you might not like me anymore.”

Renjun’s eyebrow rose. “Oh?”

Jeno’s mouth refused to obey him. It stayed clamped shut, unwilling to open. He and Renjun gazed at each other for a long time, neither of them saying anything, until finally Renjun let out a small sigh and said, “Are you going to tell me that you’re the author of that fanfic?”

“What? No. No, I’m not.”

“Okay, then here’s my second guess: are you going to tell me you had a crush on me before we ever met.”

Jeno’s lips parted. He was silent.

“Aww, you’re doing your surprised face,” said Renjun fondly, reaching out to take both cheeks into his hands. He squished his face and Jeno made an equally squished noise of protest. “Cutie. You think I haven’t known all along about your inner fanboy self? Your inner Injeolmi?”

Jeno leaned away. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Oh, man.”

Renjun picked up his phone and showed him how one of the tabs in his Naver app was none other than YouTube, where the title of a “Jeno simping for Renjun compilation, PRE-JENREN” video could be seen in plain sight. Jeno snatched the phone from him so fast that he got up off his chair to gape at the screen. 

“They _have_ these?” he said, fast-forwarding through the video, finding more than a few clips of old interviews and radio appearances that featured Jeno mentioning Renjun as his ideal type, Jeno holding an NCT-patterned phone case at the airport, Jeno wearing merch, Jeno’s nails painted bright green in the photo he posted two years ago to celebrate Renjun’s birthday hashtag.

All of the clips were from before they had started dating. _Jenren_. Was that their—oh, my God. They had ship names. His jaw hanging, Jeno scrolled and scrolled through pages of YouTube results for Jenren compilations.

“How long have you known?” he whispered, looking up with fear.

Renjun laughed. “Eh. Like, for a while. Why? I thought you knew that I knew.”

“I didn’t,” said Jeno, flustered. “I was worried that you’d see me as, I don’t know just some crazy stalker fan who had engineered this fake dating situation just to get closer to their idol? Just to trick you? In which case, you _have_ to know that I’m not delulu and I really didn’t know that my manager was pairing me with _you_ for this whole thing. I didn’t have any clue.”

“Relax,” said Renjun, speaking past a spoonful of rice in his mouth. “It’s almost like you think I’d see you as, like, impure, for being my fan before we met.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I just think it’s adorable,” said Renjun, eyes widening. A grain of rice was on his chin. “It’s like you can’t get any cuter.”

“You’re not _disturbed_?” said Jeno, aghast.

“Should I be?”

“Well no but—”

“Cutie,” cooed Renjun, reaching out to take his face in his hands again. He pouted when Jeno moved away. “Hey, it’s not like I’d never seen your pictorials before we met. You’re attractive. Your milk ad went viral. People know about you! You’re a familiar face, to a lot of Koreans.”

Jeno groaned and buried his head in his arms on the countertop. His heart was pounding like a runaway butterfly. “Renjun . . .”

“That’s me,” said Renjun cheerfully.

“I hate it here.”

“This fried rice is good. Did you put extra soy sauce?”

Jeno was trying to press pause on the still-playing YouTube video. It proved hard when his eyeballs were currently obscured by his sweater sleeve. He let out another moan of mortification at the sound of his younger voice saying “oh, yes, please stream Rools” earnestly in front of some fansite.

Finally, Renjun pressed pause on the video. After a long stretch of silence, where Jeno did not look up, Renjun put his spoon down and got up. For an irrational moment Jeno thought he was going to walk out on him; but no, a moment later he felt the sensation of two warm arms slipping around his waist as Renjun hugged him from behind.

“Oh, you.”

“Don’t _oh, you_ me,” mewled Jeno.

He felt Renjun’s soft cheek settle against his shoulderblade. He was so short that he couldn’t see over Jeno’s shoulder. “You’re so you.”

“No one’s doing it like me,” said Jeno half-miserably, half-joking.

“Absolutely nobody.”

“Do you still like me?”

“Yes,” said Renjun, and hugged him tighter as if to show proof.

“You’ll tell me if you stop liking me, right? Like, whenever that might happen?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” said Renjun. “ _If_ it happens.”

They stayed there for a long time, just Renjun tiny against Jeno’s back in their small homely little kitchen with the fried rice getting cold in front of them. Renjun started humming Fools by Troye Sivan and then he cackled when Jeno let out an incoherent noise of protest (“stop _clowning_ me!”) (“as if we don’t already live in a circus, Jen”) and Jeno promptly turned around and scooped him up and carried him over to the bed where he could properly tickle him in revenge. Their sides got stitches from laughing so much. 

They’d be okay.

♡♡♡

“So . . . you don’t want to call it off.”

“Yes, Seulgi. I’m positive.”

“Seriously? You mean, you two have really—”

“ _Yes_ , Seulgi. Is it really so hard to believe that someone feels affection for me?”

“Yeah, kinda—?”

“Wow, haha, you’re so funny, absolutely comedic.”

“Okay, okay, Renjun! I’ll let you and Jeno continue canoodling, if you so wish. I suppose it can only help your careers from here on out, eh? I’ll let Yeri know. And congratulations for your new relationship, for real. I didn’t know this type of fake-turned-real relationship shit even existed outside of the fanfictions.”

“Wait, you read the fanfictions?”

“Who doesn’t?”

When the call was over Renjun lowered the phone in astonishment. He turned to look at Jeno, who was silently laughing beside him on the couch. “She reads fanfictions about us,” he said faintly, and Jeno laughed harder.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Have _you_ read any, Jeno?”

“No, honest, I’ve been too busy with schedules. Although I did read some stuff in the past . . . from before we met, that is,” he admitted.

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, it shipped you with your bandmate Hyuck.”

Renjun let out a high-pitched noise of derision. “With _Donghyuck_? The—the fucking audacity—”

“You look cute together,” protested Jeno, and Renjun frowned and climbed up onto his lap. He glared down at Jeno who blinked up at him.

“But you should ship me with you,” said Renjun. “Not anyone else.”

“Oh, are we getting a little possessive?” teased Jeno. “Are you saying you’re mine? Only mine?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

And he wasn’t, if only because Jeno tilted his head up and kissed him so they’d stop bickering.

♡♡♡

_Naver Web Article |_ _작가: 부예린 Bu Ye Rin_

_tags: pop culture, idols, valentine's day_

_published 2022년 2월 14일, 오후 11:11_

_This month marks the successful return of NCT, with their Valentine-themed sweetheart title track “Love Again” penned by their main vocalist and songwriter RENJUN! Inside sources reveal that he wrote this song for his lover, Lee Jeno, in commemoration of their 1 year together as a couple! The song is the third installment of NCT's First Love trilogy, joining its predecessor title tracks "My First and Last" and "Bye My First", both released over the span of the past few months and entirely written and composed by RENJUN._

_Check out the lyrics now!_

_“Keep it on the low_

_Keep it on the low_

_Keep it on the low_

_The smile in your eyes deletes my everything_

_Oh maybe maybe (baby, be mine)_

_Now I think I understanding that meaning (of falling in love tonight)”_

**Author's Note:**

> those lyrics are a frankensong of some of my fav parts of the First Love nct dream series skreeeeee
> 
> here's the english translation of what renjun told the fan who accidentally hit nono in the face with a gopro: “You need to back the fuck off. What’s your name? I’ve got half a mind to just go and report you. Get a life, will you? Do you have anything better to do than harass people in your spare time? Fucking hell.”
> 
> and then she says "i'm sorry" and he continues:
> 
> “You. You call yourself a fan of ours? Do you realize how harmful you are? Invasion of privacy, invasion of personal space, absolutely no respect. What are you even going to do with the footage you captured on that camera? Gonna post it on the gram to see how many likes you get? What the hell do you gain out of that? Tell me. You think it’s promotion? It’s not promotion. It’s not doing anyone any favors. All it is is rude. All you’re doing is being rude.”
> 
> ... yes renjun. go off
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed this floofy lil fake dating au fic~! plz leave comments they're my life force <3 remember to drink water, hydrate thyself
> 
> \- yerin 02032021
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/_regret_me_not) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/_regret_me_not)


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